Take off your Hijab (Rewriting)

Two whole weeks...unconscious ✅

"Surviving is so much harder than we thought that's why some of us decided to just exist instead live"

Zach's POV.

"So, I heard about what happened to Amal," Ayana says, making me raise an eyebrow. What is she doing here? Why is she even talking to me?

"Yeah, everyone has," I reply, turning to walk away, but she grabs my arm, freezing me in place. My skin crawls at the unexpected touch—she's lucky I don't throw a punch.

"Is she okay?" she asks, her voice dripping with fake concern. I stare at her, disbelief written all over my face. Is she seriously pretending to care now? After everything she's done? She's the one who started that whole anti-Muslim nonsense.

"If you weren't a girl, I'd have punched you already," I say coldly, watching as she flinches and pulls her hand back. I don't waste another second on her, heading straight for my government class.

Ever since Amal was hospitalized, I've had random people coming up to me, acting like they care. It's sickening how fake they all are. I want nothing more than to smack some sense into them, but I can't, so I just mess with them instead—answering their questions with more questions until they get tired and leave me alone.

"If I ask, will you give me a straight answer?" Grandma's voice is laced with concern as she watches me.

"Maybe, Grandma," I say with a smirk, knowing exactly what's coming.

"Ouch!" I wince as she gives me a light smack on the back of my head.

"Don't 'maybe' me. I'm worried about you kids" she scolds, her eyes softening as she hands me my meds. I'm still on medication for my bipolar disorder, and without them, I'd be an emotional mess. I down the pills with a glass of orange juice, realizing I'd forgotten to take them before school—oops.

"But you don't even know her," I say, trying to deflect, but Grandma gives me that look—the one that says she's not buying any of my nonsense.

"Why are you so possessive about her? You weren't like this with Sam," Camila chimes in, her tone light but curious.

"Call him whenever you want" I shoot back with a smirk, knowing exactly how to get under her skin.

"Urgh, see what I mean?" she complains, throwing her hands up in frustration.

"Grandma, I got to go," I say, standing up and grabbing my bag.

"To see his wife," Camila teases, and I roll my eyes.

"Not my wife, she's just my—"

"Friend, yeah, yeah, I know," she interrupts, grinning like she's just won something.

I give her a dry look before leaning down to kiss Grandma on the cheek. "See you later, Grandma. Bye, short stuff" I add, shooting Camila a mocking glance as I head for the door.

Her mouth falls open in shock. "I'm older than you!" she yells after me as I slam the door shut, a smirk playing on my lips.

As I walk down the street, I can feel the meds kicking in, smoothing out the jagged edges of my mood. Without them, I'd be bouncing between rage and despair, my mind a storm of uncontrollable emotions. But for now, the meds keep me steady—steady enough to handle whatever else the day throws at me.

I do not feel like driving today, so I opted for an Uber, letting myself get lost in my thoughts as I made my way to the hospital. The night was closing in, the sky darkening as I waved at the guards and hailed a taxi.

"The National Hospital," I said curtly, hoping the driver would take the hint. But he didn't—he kept on talking, and I nodded along, too tired to be care how e no replying can be considered as rude. My mind was elsewhere, circling around the same frustrating thoughts: why was i not able I save her? Friends are supposed to protect each other, right? If Amal were here, she'd probably tell me that "Everything doesn't go according to your plan, but according to God's plan, which is the best plan." I could almost hear her voice in my head saying that, bringing a small, ironic smile to my lips.